Dark Dreams
by complicated-kt
Summary: After Joseph Buquet's death, a young Violinist goes to her hiding place on the Opera house's roof. But she finds she's truly not as alone as she thinks... Can the violinist bring day break to a phantom's eternal night?
1. All I ask of You

Dark Dreams: A 'Phantom of the Opera' story

Title: Dark Dreams

Character pairings: Christine/Raoul, Erik/OC

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, that belongs to Gaston Larox (sp?), the music to ALW, and the movie by the director guy.. Who's name has slipped my mind.. But I own Arielle. If you want to use her, ASK first.

Author's note: I'm basing this story more off of the movie rather than the book.. cuz.. well.. I'm not quite done with the book yet. The story starts right after Joseph Buquet's death in the movie. And it's in Arielle's POV, so first person. It's not one of my best stories and it's not really complete yet, so bear with me. And I APOLOGIZE if the story border-lines on the mary-sue, but I'm trying my best to make Arielle seem believable. Since she shares some of my personality, you'll just have to have faith that she'll turn out concrete. So, with much hope and pleasure, I present to you the first enstallment of 'Dark Dreams'. Enjoy, my lovelies.

My heart thudded in my throat as I edged my way behind one of the stone, snow covered gargoyles, to hide my self.

Gods, What had possessed me to come out here in the bitter cold snow, and on the roof no less! I was merely dressed in my usual attire for our performances: A white high collared, buttoned up shirt, coal-colored dress pants, and a black dinner jacket. With shinny heels. Which had been light and cool in the stuff heat of the theater, but it wasn't enough clothes to wear outside in the Parisian winter snow.

The gathering blanket of snow seeped through my heels and made my feet seem like solid blocks of frigid ice, but I dare not cross the terrace to go inside. For HE was there. I had caught a glimpse of the infamous Opera Ghost. The Phantom of the Opera. I was petrified with terror.

Like a living shadow he had been, enclosed in the darkness with his white mask glowing in the moonlight. He didn't seem like he had seen me, or if he had, he didn't care.

For some reason, his mere presence stirred something inside me. A raging curiosity and intrigue. I had never been so close to the man in the snow-white-Mask in my 4 years at the Opera Populaire. He seemed like a magnet to me, compelling me to take a closer look at him. The Phantom appeared to be romantic and full of mystery... I let my mind wander, but my common sense reigned in these rampant thoughts and feelings and replaced them quickly with alarming fear and protective anger. He had tried to hurt to hurt Madame La Carlotta, for that I ALMOST thanked him, but he had crossed the line when he had threatened Christine and killed a man I had known, however begrudgingly. He was dangerous and a threat to my home.

'But why is he out here, in the cold night' I wondered silently, but suddenly the sound of voices brought me out of my reverie.

It was Christine and our patron, Viscount Raoul De Cangy. It was no surprise to me to find them alone together, as it was common knowledge that they had a special relationship together.

Well, it was common knowledge-except to a certain Masked Phantom.

Then a thought caught me by surprise by it's sudden sting and concern.

The phantom had feelings, however obsessive and perverted as they were, for Christine. He loved her, her angelic voice, and porcelain-like-features. Christine had told Meg and I such things this morning. I had growled in response, of course. But this was now..

An overwhelming wave of pity and sympathy washed over me towards the Phantom. My fear and anger towards the masked man melted away in just a moment's time.

'_Mon Dieu.. What a horrible feeling! To know that the one you love, loves another.. That poor man.._' I thought with a hand to my heart as I tried to imagine what the Phantom was going through emotionally, hearing his only love confess her own love to the handsome Viscount. I could sympathize completely. I had gone through many one-sided-romances.

_'Say you'll share with me,_

_one love, one lifetime,_

_ Say the word,_

_ and I will follow you_

_ Say you love me,_

_ That's all I ask of you...'_ Two voices, the exact example of true, pure, love, blended together in the night.

But even the presences of such love and happiness, I felt my heart break. Not for myself or for Christine or Raoul, but for the Phantom.

Soon the voices faded away with the sound of hurried footsteps. But despite this, I didn't move. I knew the Phantom was still there.

His thick boots crunched in the snow as he moved from his hiding place from behind the gargoyle, I saw him from the corner of my eye. Though I couldn't make out the exact words he started to sing, the melody was soft and heartbreaking, full of sorrow and betrayal.

Without my consent, my eyes started to blur with un-shed tears. Slowly, cautiously, silently, I peeked my head around the statue I was hiding behind. The Phantom was kneeling on the ground, with a single crimson rose in his hand that had a black satin ribbon tied around the stem. His signature. His sign of love for Christine- tossed away like nothing.

As if it were my offense instead of the Phantom's, I clenched my hand tighter around the handle of my violin. How could Christine have been so careless as to through such a beautiful gift away! How this must have been the salt on the wound to the Phantom...

I watched in sympathetic concern as the phantom's song took a darker tone and he crushed the rose in his hand until only fragments of the lovely flower remained, like drops of liquid rubies on the snow.

Suddenly, the Phantom ran at the statue I was hiding behind. I leapt back under the statue, in fear that he had seen me.

_"YOU WILL CURSE THE DAY THAT YOU DID NOT DO ALL THAT THE PHANTOM ASKED OF YOU!" _the deep baritone voice of the Phantom of the Opera declared into the night from the top of a gargoyle above me.

The power in his voice caused me to inhale sharply and I pressed myself even further underneath the statue. Something in his voice told me there would be much blood shed in our Opera Populaire...


	2. Afterthoughts

Tentatively, I poked out my head from behind my hiding place.

Only footprints in the snow were left behind.

Meekly, I edged my way around the gargoyle and on tip-toed walked towards the door, but I stopped.

The crumpled rose still lay forgotten on the ground. The black satin ribbon shone in the moonlight. I knelt down, untied the ribbon and held it in my hand as I stared at it, almost in a trance.

The pain in the Phantoms voice still rang in my ears as I stared at the small silky ribbon in my fingers. It was still warm from his touch. The Phantoms almost broken form lingered in my mind. Inside, I felt something ache. Like a sense of longing, like the bitter-sweet pain of...

My breath stopped and died in my throat. No. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible.

I could _NOT_ be in love with the Phantom of the Opera!

But the more I thought about the mornful song the Phantom had sung, the almost silent sobs that had wracked his proud form, the true and unaltered anguish that he felt (which I knew all too well of from first-hand-experience), the more my heart ached for him. I knew what kind of pain the Phantom was feeling, oh, yes, I knew it all too well...Perhaps I could help him. Perhaps I could show him that he wasn't truly alone...

But suddenly, Madame Giry's worn and flushed face appeared before me, and brought me out of my thoughts.

"Arielle! What in Gods name are you doing out here? Your lips are blue!" she exclaimed in her heavy accent. She clasped my hand and promptly drug me inside.

As we were embraced by the sweet warmth of the theater, Madame Giry noticed the ribbon in my hand. She found the far-away look in my eyes and stared long and hard into my unwavering gaze. "Do.. Do you know what you are getting yourself into, child?" she asked me quietly.

I looked away finally, "No.. I don't.. But I have to try, don't I? I.. I think I could help him.. I could love him, if given the chance.." I murmured softly as I returned my eyes to Madame Giry's pensive face.

"Dear girl, you do not even know his NAME.." she started feebly.

"But I would if you told it to me! Along with everything else you know about him. And I KNOW you do. So don't try to tell me you don't know anything about him.." I hissed as I eyed the people around us, to make sure no one was eaves-dropping on our conversation. She was the one who had always found the notes he left, the one who insisted that his instructions be followed.

Madame Giry seemed to close into her self, her expression as blank as a brick wall before me. My nerve lessened, but then slowly, Madame Giry nodded, agreeing to tell me all she knew.

I let out a breath of relief and my heart seemed to hum, it was beating so fast. The air around me seemed to be charged with anticipation and with possibility.

As soon as we reached Madame Giry's room, she began The Phantoms tragic tale. She had gone with her peers from the Ballerina Academy to see a traveling gypsy group. There were many strange sights to see, many distorted and bizarre creates and beings. But none was so tragic as the 'Devils Child'. It was a wraith of a boy, nothing more than a dirty skeleton of a human being with a ragged burlap sack on his head with holes to see out of. The boy was beaten and then his marred and mangled face was shown off to a cruelly jeering crowd. All he was doing was making a music box! But soon, karma took its toll on the beastly keeper of the boy, as he was strangled to death by his captive.

Madame Giry freed the boy and hid him in the Opera Populaire. He had been there ever since. The boys name was Erik, but no one knew him by that name.. Only as O.G.: Opera Ghost. He was an artistic genius. Erik could compose, design, and engineer an entire play by himself.

My respect and concern for Eric only grew as the tale continued on. What a horrible past he had suffered through! And now, I had seen the great man he had grown to be and my heart brimmed with awe and pride, that he had overcome his abuse.

'_If only I could show that same strength when I had faced my inner demons..._' I thought as I mentally revisited my hard past. But I pushed such thoughts away and tried to concentrate on Madame Giry's hushed words.

When she finished the story, Madame Giry looked at me curiously. For a moment I didn't know why- until I felt something tickle my cheek. Tears were running down my face in tiny streams.

I wiped them away with the back of my hand. But then, such a feeling of hopeless despair washed over me that I wilted in my seat on Madame Giry's bed. "Such a daunting task.. For everyone with eyes or ears knows that Erik only has eyes for Christine.. With her undeniable beauty and angelic voice, how in the world can I compare, let alone catch Erik's eye long enough for him to notice me?" I sighed as I laid my chin on my hands.

Madame Giry reached from her seat and patted my arm in an attempt to comfort me. "It will not be an easy task, Arielle. You must have to wait and have the patience of a saint to reach Eric the way he is now, but.." she trailed off as she got up and went to her closet. She took a moment to find whatever she was looking for, but when she turned around and revealed her treasure, I gasped. "But.. It can be done."

Before me was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. The bust was a slate grey crushed velvet material and it tied up in the back like a corset with a grey silk ribbon. The skirt fell from the waist in a black cascading river that pooled outward beautifully, the satin fabric the color of deep black midnight. "ME? Wear THAT! GOODNESS! I could never! Im just a poor violinist! I-" I started to object, but Madame Giry silenced me with her hand on my mouth.

"You're the hardest worker this Opera house has ever seen, Arielle. You deserve this and so much more, my dear. Take it. There is a Masquerade Ball coming up and you WILL wear this and he WILL notice you. I bet my life on it." Madame Giry told me with a mothering smile.

I leapt up and hugged the woman who I had to come to love as my surrogate mother tightly. "Thank you, thank you so much. With your help, I know I can do this.."


	3. History

_((FLASHBACK)) _

"_Get in here you worthless little bitch, and YOU HAD BETTER NOT BE CRYING AGAIN!_" _a rough and calloused voice barked from down the hall. _

_I winced and tried my best to blend in with the rest of the filthy laundry around me. Even at my tender age of 9, I already knew what kinds of horrors that followed such a beckoning. _

_The skeleton-like form of my mother seemed to drift past me, as if the spark of life had already been smothered and she was nothing more than a husk of a human being. Her blue eyes used to glimmer with soft kindness that seemed to be set into the very marrow of her bones, but now they only reflected the only emotions she had left to cling to- quiet, contained, but terrible fear and unfathomable despair._

_Her name was Jaime, which means 'I Love', which was exactly what she did. She loved. She loved anyone and everyone she ever knew. My mother had the face of an angel, with her strawberry blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, fair skin, and slender, but fairly tall frame, and the patience of a saint. Her heart was as big as an ocean, people would say. She loved and lived with all her vast heart- until she met Mitchel Whitkliff. The man who stole her essence, love of life , and very soon, her life as a whole. But I, being only a naive little girl, didn't know this until it was too late._

_My mother, Jaime Reinhardt-Whitkliff, glanced at me as I watched her with tear-filled eyes. My tears seemed to be screaming, along with my whole being: 'Why? WHY DO WE SUFFER LIKE THIS? WHY?' She paused, and as if she already knew this would be our last moment together, she reached over and smoothed my dark brown hair out of my mis-matched eyes with a tiny sad little smile on her pale, bruised, and battered face. Then she continued on her seemingly long walk down the hall, where she was followed by a small child-sized shadow who clung to her skirt as if for dear life._

_But before she opened the door that lead to Mitchel's room, my mother gently took my hands off of her skirt and silently pointed to the hall way closet, for me to hide in. "Stay here, Ari. No matter WHAT you see or hear, PROMISE me you will stay in here until I come to fetch you." she hissed so lowly I had trouble hearing her. I nodded dumbly and sat down on the cold floor of the closet. _

_My mother opened her mouth, as if to say something, but apparently she hadn't been fast enough for Mitchel's liking, as he bellowed "WHORE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? DON'T MAKE ME DRAG YOUR SORRY CARCASE IN HERE MY SELF!" With such a look of anguish and finality, my mother closed the door and left me alone in the close darkness that seemed to suffocate me. _

_That last look of pure pain and defeat was the last I ever saw of my mother again. I never heard a sound come from her, only Mitchel's furious grunting, his curses, and the sound of something glass breaking. _

_Then there was that horrible, never-ending silence. I don't know how long I sat there, hugging my knees in the dark, but I was nothing more than an insanely thin frame of skin and bones when the landlord came to our apartment to collect the past-overdue rent. He found both my mother and Mitchel dead. But before he came, I had found my 'inheritance'. A medium sized object had been next to me. A violin case with the instrument still inside. Engraved in the case were the initials: A. R.. My absent father's initials._

_((End flashback)) _

When Madame Giry had taken me from the orphanage to the opera house, she introduced me to Maestro Meyer, who immediately began to teach me how to play the violin. I had already knew some basic songs by ear, but he taught me how to sight-read the notes. But others in the opera house didn't and still don't really like me, they think me strange and abnormal because of my eyes. My eyes are mismatched. My left is as pure a blue as my mother's once where, the other was a deep dark velvety brown. I was quiet when I first came to the opera Populaire, and I pretty much still am, so my shyness kept me from making friends for a long time. Added to my 'weird' eyes. But I eventually did make friends who I still cherish deeply. My great friends are Meg Giry and Christine Daae. They alone seem to be capable of true kindness. 

So I knew the kind of pain and loneliness that the Phantom felt, I had felt it for nearly all my 19 years. If only I could get close to him though.. Little did I know after I'd left Madame Giry's room that night, it would be another 3 months before I saw a glimpse or heard a single whisper about or of my dear Erik. 3 months until the night of the Masquerade Ball.


	4. Masquerade

Author's note: My last try on chapter 4 was made at 12:46 at night, so it was by far not my best piece of writing. I hope I have amended for that lot of rubbish with this new revised version. I want to thank those who have reviwed and given corrective critisism. (you know who you are). Thank you again and enjoy. And I don't own the song "Do you Hear what I hear". Making no money. Nada. Enjoy. 

---------- Dark Dreams Chapter 4:

Like I said before. 3 months. Of NOTHING. Not a word. Not a sound. Not a single red-inked note. People had even stopped talking about the 'Opera Ghost'. Some even dared to call Erik's presence nothing more than a horribly long-standing-joke of sorts. I nearly lost hope. Doubts were constantly hanging over me like a continuous black cloud above my head. Horrible scenarios swam in my mind whenever my thoughts wandered...

What if something had happened to him? What if he had been caught and executed? That couldn't have happened, my hopeful mind concluded, because I would have heard of such a thing by now. But I kept the black silk ribbon from that night on the roof in my pocket just for reassurance. Each time I felt the soft coolness of the fabric, my faith and love in Erik restored with a warm feeling that seemed to make me walk with a bit more bounce to my step. And besides, when ever I would practice on my violin, I always got the sensation I was being watched- but no one was around.

Finally, on Christmas Eve, I received my first sign of Erik, though at the time I wasn't sure. I had been on an errand for Mr .Reyer to run to the cellars to get another bottle of wine for the crew's Christmas dinner, when I heard the same entrancing baritone voice that had made an angry declaration to the November night sky, singing 'Silent Night'. I paused to listen, then continued on my way, singing along with Erik until his voice faded into silence as I came to the cellar. Perhaps he had realized he had been heard and stopped? Or maybe it had just been my overly optimistic imagination getting a hold of me again.. Despite all these doubts and speculations, something in my heart told me I wasn't alone. And this was the greatest comfort of all.

With a sudden sense of unrivaled peace and happiness (but not without just a thought of _relief), _I was singing as I returned with the wine : "_Said the night wind to the little lamb,_

_do you see what I see_

_Way up in the sky, little lamb,_

_do you see what I see_

_A star, a star, dancing in the night_

_With a tail as big as a kite_

_With a tail as big as a kite_

_Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy,_

_do you hear what I hear _(Then I thought I heard Erik's voice echoing back to me on this chorus)

_Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy,_

_do you hear what I hear_

_A song, a song, high above the trees_

_With a voice as big as the sea_

_With a voice as big as the sea_

_Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king,_

_do you know what I know_

_In your palace warm, mighty king,_

_do you know what I know_

_A Child, a Child shivers in the cold_

_Let us bring Him silver and gold_

_Let us bring Him silver and gold_

_Said the king to the people everywhere,_

_listen to what I say_

_Pray for peace, people everywhere!_

_listen to what I say_

_The Child, the Child, sleeping in the night_

_He will bring us goodness and light_

_He will bring us goodness and light_"

Because no one had ever managed to coax me into singing in front of them besides Christine or Meg in my 4 years at the Opera Populaire (and they had kept that incident to them selves), you can imagine the wide-eyed stares I received when I walked in, singing in my slightly deep alto voice. I immediately blushed under everyone's gazes and set the bottles of wine down hastily. Meg and Piangi teased me playfully throughout the whole dinner about that. Christine gave me a little amused smile with that delightful twinkle in her deep brown eyes that made me heart seem to glow all the more.

For the first time in a long time, there was a deep sense of joy and peace flowing through the Opera House that night. Perhaps it was the fact that it was Christmas Eve night? Perhaps it was because (nearly) everyone believed that The Phantom had left us for good at last? And maybe it was because nearly everyone had a great deal too much wine that cold and calm evening. (I personally didn't touch a drop of the stuff. I hate wine... Mitchel always drank wine excessively and I swore never to drink in my life because of him... I get teased for that too.) And though I was completely sober as the evening's festivities winded down (which Piangi pointed out rather LOUDLY in his rich, deeply slurred speech), I could have sworn I heard Erik's deep laugh echoing through out the Opera House that night after words.

Then on New Year's Eve, there was the Ball. One could have been certain that all of the worldly officials from around the globe were going to attend, the way that our Mangers carried on.. The whole theater was decorated beautifully and everyone who was anyone was there, though you'd never know it, since on nearly every face there was a different mask. I was up in my room, getting ready with Meg and Christine when I spied the dazzling ring that was around Christine's slender neck. I arched an eyebrow at her and she blushed promptly. But I didn't press her about it anymore. When I pulled out my dress from my closet, Meg all but had a FIT.

"WHERE DID YOU GET THAT GEM OF DRESS?" the blonde shrieked horribly as she ran over to inspect every detail of my dress that was in my arms.

"I.. Um.. It was a gift..It didn't say who it was from.." I lied quietly, with a blush to make it seem believable. Meg bought my story, but Christine looked oddly troubled.

I had Meg do my hair up in loose-spiraling curls, held up by a rhinestone-studded crown that attached to my dark brown hair, with some ringlets framing my heart shaped face. My mask was simple: black velvet with black embellishments around the edges and eyes.

Christine had to go to meet Raoul, Meg had to go escort the Managers with her Mother, so I was left alone. But before I made my 'entrance', I studied my reflection critically. A woman stood before me where a waif-ish looking girl had stood only moments before. My dark brown locks were piled high on my head, where as they usually hung in a loose pony tail away from my face and out of the way. A black mask covered up most of my pale heart-shaped face, leaving only my mismatched eyes to shimmer behind the glitter and smooth velvet. My lips were painted the color of the darkest of roses, a prominent feature on my face next to my naturally fair skin. Which was a large change for me as I very rarely wore make up.

Inwardly pleased with what I saw in the mirror before me, the Ball awaited me.

I came down one of the two tributary stair cases slowly, as not to trip over my dress's long hem. Frankly, my eyes were glued to my feet. What I didn't notice while I was trying not to trip was the amount of stares I was receiving as I came down the steps, when I finally did look up I immediately noticed the most intent of these looks belonging to a man in a death's head mask and brilliant red dress coat and long cape.

I'll give you three guesses who it was... My gaze went back to my shoes again. My confidence was faltering terribly. I felt my self close back up, my body tense, my resolve lessen. If you had asked the people around me, I think they would have said I 'positively wilted, like a rose in winter'. What was I thinking? I was just a love-sick girl with a crush on someone who loved another. Erik had never noticed me before, so why would this dress change that? '_What a fool I am.._' I berated my self harshly in my mind.

But in spite of my confidence cracking inside of me, something compelled me to look up, a silent summoning it seemed. Like a firm hand lifting up my chin, though not a soul was there. Since fighting the call was futile, I glanced up, not daring for one second to believe what I saw before my eyes.

Suddenly, the death's head was right in front of me and I was staring into the bluest pair of eyes I had ever seen. The breath I had just taken died in my throat and my knees turned to nothing but mushy unstable goo. And he hadn't even said a word to me yet. I don't think he would have had to, I was already half way to the moon, just staring into his eyes, reveling in the Phantom's closeness to me. If I had had the courage to, I could have merely lifted my gloved hand and touched the man I had fallen so deeply in love with these last 3 months. But I didn't dare, lest this perfect moment be somehow shattered and I would wake up in my bed from a wonderfully teasing dream.

But I didn't wake up. And this wasn't a dream. But like in so many of my dreams of late, Erik was before me. He was finally seeing _me, _not _Christine, _who had refused him. _ME, _Arielle Reinhardt-De Lenfent. I could have flown to heaven if he had asked me to.

On Erik's face there was a small smile, as if he was trying to conceal his amusement. Out of habit, I curtsied, feeling more than a little self conscious. "Monsieur." I greeted quietly, inwardly praying that my voice wouldn't quiver. Which thankfully it didn't.

"Mademoiselle.." Erik whispered in similar greeting as he bowed and to my complete surprise took my hand and kissed it lightly. Shivers (of the pleasant kind) ran down my back at the sensation of his lips touching my hand, even if it was through a thin layer of satin.

In the back of my mind, I was very grateful of the mask that covered my face, that also hid my furiously blushing face. Or so I hoped.

And Erik had yet to release my hand from his.

Slowly, as if struggling to reach me through my surreal state of mind, the gathering sound of music finally reached my ears. I glanced over Erik's shoulder where the band and my mentor Maestro Reyer were playing a sweet slow song. Almost as an after thought, I felt the slight need to be near them, playing my violin out of routine... But no.. Maestro had let me go to the Ball. It was alright for me to be here and not playing. The haze I felt I was shrouded in was lifting, like a light morning mist..

But as soon a Erik pressed gently on my hand to get my attention, my mind returned the dream-like-state it had been in only a moment before. "You seem distracted.." the man behind the mask observed lightly, his deep voice almost chuckling, but he continued, "But I wonder if I might have the pleasure of this dance, my lady?" Erik asked in nothing short of a murmur.

I didn't have to be asked again, and by warm gloved hands I was lead to the second level dance floor. Fluidly, almost like water we danced, twirled and spun to the music that seemed not to come from the band playing some hundred meters away, but from the very air around us. Even though, before now, I would have killed any other dance partner's feet. My mind could not shake the feeling that this was nothing more than a dream, though I silently prayed with all my being that it wasn't. I _was _dancing with Erik. And heaven help the poor soul who tried to take this little piece of heaven from me...


	5. Erik's Pain

_**Erik's POV:**_

Silence. Cold and impersonal. It reflected that which I hate more than the wretched light of day- Loneliness. But I couldn't take the surge of noise that had swelled in the theater when the stage-hand's body had fallen above the stage. So I had sought out the refuge of the night on the Opera House's roof, where there was only the cold night's silence. The lesser of the two evils it seemed.

At that thought, I smiled grimly behind my horrid mask. '_Evil. What truly is evil? Isn't it nothing more than a point of view?... As with beauty, isn't evil in the eye of beholder?_' with these thoughts, I nearly started to laugh in despair. Only a demon such as I would compare 'evil' to 'beauty'.

Hm. Beauty. My mind conjured up the vision of my darling Christine and my black heart swelled with love at the very thought of my Angel. Her voice, her beauty, it was all _mine. _Yes. Christine _was _mineThis thought made a predatory grin grace my grotesque features.

And as if by chance and fate, my angel's voice floated through the frigid night air to my ears. But to my chagrin, she was not alone... An all too familiar man's voice blended with my Angel's pure voice. My blood boiled and churned with unbridled hate and jealousy.

'**_NO!_**' I mentally screamed with all of my being, heart, and soul. Agony, despair, hatred, betrayal, and pain all battled within me to gain control. I was almost bent over in my turmoil.

How **DARE **she? And I had forbade that impudent fool of a viscount from seeing Christine! And yet they both had disobeyed my commands. Christine I could forgive, but the boy... _'Raoul' _was his name. I would have his neck, that was for certain. Christine was mine and mine alone.

But this was only the beginning. As the moments passed, Christine had not only broken my faith in her, but my heart as well. She had chosen that _boy_ instead of me, the man who had taken her voice and had purified it until it shown like gold. _I _had inspired her to sing, _I _was the one who had sheltered her when her father had died. It was because of _me _that she had won the role of Margueritein _Hannibal. CHRISTINE BELONGED TO ME AND NO OTHER MAN WOULD HAVE HER IN ANY WAY! _

_**SHE. WAS. MINE. **_

Her tender spoken words were like red-hot knives driven into my poor aching heart:

"_Say you'll share with_

_me one_

_love, one lifetime . . ._

_say the word_

_and I will follow you . . ."_

Each word spoken was another wave of pain and betrayal. I died each time the two of them came together in their passion. My compassion and my capacity for kindness dwindled until only the dregs remained in my raging soul.

Finally they stopped singing and with voices filled with excitement and love, my fallen angel and her.._lover_ fled away back to their make-believe world of light and warmth. The scorn in my mouth left a bitter taste.

I walked over to the rose that Christine had dropped carelessly in the confession of love that she had partaken in. The red hot tears of pain and heartbreak were already running down my face and blurring my eye-sight as I knelt down and cradled my gift in my hands.

Like the waves of pain that I was drowning in, the tears as well seemed unending and startling in their intensity. These same tears choked my voice as I gasped out a sad song to vent my feelings: "_I gave you my music . . ._

_made your song take wing . . ._

_and now, how you've_

_repaid me:_

_denied me_

_and betrayed me . . ._

_He was bound to love you_

_when he heard you sing . . ._

_Christine ..._

_Christine ..."_

Then the two lovebirds' song came ringing back into my ears like a hellish echo of my heartbreak... I like my heart, I crushed the flower in my hands and let the mangled petals fall to the ground.

Then in an angry heartfelt rage I ran at the gargoyle in front of me, climbed on top and bellowed for all the world to hear: "**_YOU WILL CURSE THE DAY THAT YOU DID NOT DO ALL THAT THE PHANTOM ASKED OF YOU!" _**

And as my threat hung in the air like a ominous cloud of hate and menace, I slipped away like a scorned dog into the shadows of my black despair. They would pay. Oh _yes, _they would pay dearly...


End file.
